


Changes

by moogles_muse



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood, Broody Carmilla, Character Study, F/F, POV Second Person, Tiny Gay Laura Hollis, Vampire Carmilla, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:55:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24193177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moogles_muse/pseuds/moogles_muse
Summary: Crawling under the covers burying my face,Don't have to think about my failed attempts if I'm not awake.But I drift in and out, I'm losing all control of my brain;Only way to recover is breaking the windows to let in the rain //
Relationships: Laura Hollis/Carmilla Karnstein
Comments: 19
Kudos: 40





	Changes

**Author's Note:**

> First Carmilla fic. Short(ish), angsty. Takes place during the beginning of the movie.  
> I know a lot of people don't like second person. Not sorry 'bout it.  
> Hope you enjoy it regardless, and if you do, drop a line.

She hasn’t looked at you in six days.

She hasn’t looked at you in six days and your world has narrowed to the single drop of blood that brought your world to a halt. 

_You’ve never had a problem controlling yourself before._

Her voice, so sure, so trusting, echoes in your mind to the faint backbeat of her pulse in the next room.

And you believed her, ate up her idea of you as if you hadn’t left a trail of bloody bodies through the centuries behind you. You never had a problem controlling yourself. Not with Laura Hollis. Not with Laura because you love her. Because she loves you.

Loved you. You’re not even sure anymore. It’s been six days and you’re a ghost in your own home. She jumps when you enter the room too quietly, locks the bedroom door before going to sleep. You never thought anything could rival the horror of the blood-soaked coffin you were sentenced to all those years ago, but the couch in your living room is beginning to come close. It’s where you’ve been sleeping, or not sleeping, and provides you with the perfect view of the hole in the wall, unpatched and jagged, where you snapped awake to see your world unraveling in your hands.

_Carmilla, please! It’s me! You’re hurting me!_

Laura had never had to defend herself from you before. Not really, anyway, dorm room crusades at Silas aside. You would never hurt her, would never do anything but protect her, provide for her, die for her. And yet, six days ago, you had.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was purely fear that snapped you out of your trance the first time you bit her. Fear for Laura, for what could possibly be happening to put so much anguish in her voice. Hearing her pleas as if from a dream, like something heard underwater.

_Carm! What are you doing?! CARM! Hey, hey! It’s me. It’s me!_

You had never been so horrified by yourself. It was supposed to be over; you were supposed to be human for good. No more bloodlust, no more danger posed by you to the one you loved. No more self-loathing, at least not for the present. Just Laura, with her warm, loving gaze and trusting embrace. She always gave herself to you as if your arms were the safest haven in this cold world. And they had been, until now.

You spent the better part of that night tending to Laura, getting her a bandage and cookies and tea in her favorite mug. Sitting on the far side of the bed, afraid to get too close. Apologizing.

_I’m sorry._

_I know. It’s ok, I know you didn’t mean to. My dreams, they’ve been so realistic. Maybe they’re bleeding into reality._

_There shouldn’t be any kind of bleeding happening in our home. Not from anything more than mother nature or a papercut. Laura, I…I’m so sorry. I mean it._

_I know. You don’t have to keep apologizing. But I think we should call LaF and Perry, these dreams are clearly starting to get out of hand. I don’t want to keep causing you to…_

_Lose control._

_No, that’s not what this is. You’ve never had a problem controlling yourself before. It’s just, it’s these dreams. It’s the night._

_I’ll sleep on the couch._

When she didn’t object, you knew your life in love had shifted. So, you’d lain on the couch, worrying and fighting sleep lest you wake up biting Laura again, or worse. LaF and Perry had come the next morning, running their tests and leaving with the promise of experiments and potential results in the coming days.

Things seemed all right with Laura, except for the concerned look when you came home with squirrel blood around your mouth, or the way she always seemed tense when you were cuddled on the couch together. As if, even though her head was resting on your chest, she expected your arm on her shoulder to drag her neck to your pointed teeth without a moment’s notice.

It hurt; you couldn’t pretend it didn’t. But then, you had hurt her as well. And you were walking on eggshells until LaF came up with some answers. It had been three days of sleeping tied to a chair, uneasy but guilt-ridden goodnight kisses from Laura, and radio silence from LaF when it happened. Laura had relaxed enough to watch a bad movie with you, and it almost felt like things could go back to normal as you lay on the couch with her in your arms.

It was some shitty horror movie, a simple pleasure of yours, and Laura was reviewing notes for her next broadcast. You didn’t call her on it, but you knew it was how she distracted herself from the unsettling events on the screen. You were running your fingers through her hair absent-mindedly, your favorite scene approaching—what was it about chainsaws that was so appealing? —when she hurriedly flipped the page and sucked air through her teeth.

_Ow, damn it!_

You looked down at the cut, the bead of blood collecting on her fingertip. Your head pounded with the sound of her heartbeat. The image burned for a moment behind your eyelids before everything went crimson.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

You came back to reality when your head hit the wall, the plaster crumbling into your hair and onto the floor. You reached back to cradle your skull, confusion etching your features, until your eyes opened, and you saw what you had done. Saw the most gut-wrenching scene you had ever, would ever see. Laura, one hand over her mouth, the other against her neck, staring at you in horror, in fear. She sobbed as she sat splayed on the couch, her legs still in the air after kicking you away. The tears ran down her cheeks, dropping under her chin to her neck where they mixed with the blood trailing out from under her hand.

Your knees buckled under you and, as you hit the floor, she scrambled off the couch, never turning her back to you, and ran into the bedroom. Your heart broke with the click of the lock.

You didn’t try to go after her, didn’t knock on the door to apologize. Didn’t speak her name through the silence or make her tea or even move. Not for the entire night. Nothing felt real, you couldn’t think. Not of hunger, of blood; not pain or sadness or the loneliness of night. Only Laura, and the bloody tears dripping between her fingers. You could hear her heartbeat, her sobs, and, eventually, simply her breathing, calmed by sleep. She was all right, would be all right. Physically, anyway. You couldn’t think about anything past that yet, and so you sat, silent and still and listening, all night.

When the sun rose, the light cutting through the window and into your eyes, you stretched your limbs slowly, flexing your fingers and testing your weight on unstable legs. You stared down at the couch, at the brownish, crusted stain on the cushion where Laura’s blood had dried. Seeing it, you swayed on your feet and turned away, back to the hole in the wall and the detritus of plaster under it, where you had sat for the past ten hours. Laura would have hated to see this mess. So, you cleaned. You swept up the drywall, scrubbed at the cushion, your eyes burning with tears. You pushed it down, fought them back; you did not deserve to cry.

When you were done, you sat on the floor with your back against the couch, listening for any sounds from the bedroom.

She didn’t come out until almost four in the afternoon. She swept by you silently, headed directly for the bathroom. You could smell the blood that had dried on her neck, under her fingernails, in her hair. Another room, another door, another lock firmly clicking before the shower started running.

After just ten minutes, you heard the water stop and the door swung open. Laura swept past you again, gripping the towel around her body with white knuckles. Two Band-Aids were stuck to her neck; the sterile, clean sight of them seemed to further pervert your memory of the night before, the blood darkening and pouring down Laura’s arm and chest in your mind, and you squeezed your eyes shut until the bedroom door closed and—yes, there it was, the lock turned. After another hour, it was clear she wasn’t coming out while you were home. So, you wrote a note, slid it under the bedroom door, and left for the evening.

_I know there’s nothing I can say or do right now to fix this or make you feel safe, except to leave. If you don’t want me back by morning, lock the door. I won’t take a key. Please eat something. I love you. I’m sorry. x C_

As you pulled the apartment door shut behind you, Laura’s heartbeat and breath too muffled to hear, your eyes began to burn, and you ran. You didn’t stop running for hours, hunting squirrels and rabbits as you went, until your lungs screamed and your legs were giving out and the sun was rising blindly once again. You ran all around Toronto until you were back at your door. _Her_ door. Definitely her door right now. And when you put your hand to the knob and twisted, your heart gave a start and you could have cried out, because it turned and swung open. And that was something.

That morning, as you sat on the couch still catching your breath, Laura came out to the kitchen and made her breakfast like she always had. She got dressed, collected her papers and laptop, and made a lunch like she always had. She left to go cover some story or other like she always had. But she left without glancing your way, like she couldn’t trust you, like she had to carry on alone, as if she always had.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

She hasn’t looked at you in six days, and your world has narrowed to the single drop of blood that brought your world to a halt.

Now, you sit back in the same spot by the couch, your nightly vigil since you lost control. Control, which you haven’t lost since. You think it could be the self-loathing or the fear of hurting Laura. But you can’t get the image of her sitting on the couch, staring at you wide eyed with horror, out of your mind, and you’re sure that if you were back in that coffin full of blood with that image in your head you wouldn’t drink a single drop for a century.

You’ve hunted in the small hours of every night, but always consciously. Always in control of your movements, your prey, your kills. You know you’re not back to being human, but you can feel in your core that you have some semblance of control now over your vamping. Not that it changes what’s already happened, what’s lost you Laura’s trust.

Looking back, you’ve never been more thankful for Laura’s protective dad and the art of Krav Maga. But she wouldn’t have had to use it if it hadn’t—if you hadn’t—if things could just be normal. But they aren’t, and here you are.

She’s just home from work. She looks tired now; there are purple marks under her usually bright, curious eyes. As she has the last six days, she ignores you on the couch in favor of the kitchen island and a cream puff from the fridge. At least she’s eating. She hasn’t looked at you, but she hasn’t told you to leave, either. Something has to give, and you know it has to be you.

“Laur—” Your throat is dry, voice hoarse from disuse. You clear your throat and try again.

“Laura.” There. It’s soft, but it’s clear. Searching. Hopeful. Sorry.

She sits up straighter, her eyes on the plate in front of her, and her jaw stops working.

“Laura, I know everything is fucked up right now. That _I_ fucked it up. I don’t know why this is happening to me, but I can’t bear that I hurt you. I thought LaF would have come up with something by now, but since they haven’t, I don’t know what else to do but talk to you.”

She still hasn’t moved, but now she’s looking at you, and the warmth in her eyes you haven’t felt in a week draws you to her. You take a step and she doesn’t protest, doesn’t move. Just looks at you, defeated, like she wants nothing more than to have you close. You take another step.

“I know you don’t trust me now, but I’ve been in complete control since…since…” You swallow and shake your head. “I can’t do much to prove anything to you, and I want to give you whatever you need. If that’s to leave you alone, then so be it.” At this, her brow knits and her hand slides over the countertop as if reaching out for you. You approach the counter across from her and put your hand on the table, palm down, six inches from hers. No stopping now.

“I just need to understand what’s happening to me. What your dreams have to do with it. So I can fix this, so I can keep you safe.” Your voice sounds foreign to your own ears. You’ve never been much of a talker.

She looks down at your hand and takes it in hers. She rubs her thumb over your knuckles and looks up at you.

“Carm, you scared me. Hurt me. I know you didn’t mean to, but how can I trust you in my home? In my bed?” You swallow at the thought of Laura’s home without you, bed without you. Permanently. You grip her hand and round the corner of the counter, kneeling down in front of her. You look up at her, and everything in your eyes is sorrow and regret and surrender.

“I know,” you say quietly, “I don’t expect that right now.”

“God, Carm, I’ve been sitting here every night wondering if it will be the night you lose control again. For hours, too, because, you know, it’s hard to fall asleep without you there. And even when I do, you’re there in my dreams chasing me through discount Transylvania all ‘You are mine; you shall be mine.’ I can’t escape this fear of you.”

Her words register and your mind latches onto them, connecting them somewhere deep in your memory. “Wait, what did you just say?”

“You know I have trouble falling asleep without you—”

“No, no. What do I say in your dreams?”

“You are mine; you shall be mine. You and I are one forever,” she repeats, confused, and your eyes widen as the memory clicks into place. It can’t be. You rise and turn, rushing to the trunk that holds all of your past lives. Everyone you’ve ever been, and all you wish to forget.

You rifle through the contents of the trunk, already knowing but not quite believing it to be true. Laura is behind you now; you find the book and the photograph between its pages. You look at it, already knowing, but you have to ask anyway.

“This is where Elle and I lived. Was this the manor in your dreams?”

When you hold it out to her, in hope and in fear, recognition dawns on her face. She swallows hard and meets your eyes. And you know it to be true.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When she sits beside you on the couch, still clutching the photograph, it takes everything in you not to pull her close. Her eyes are so tired, and she smells like cedar and sandalwood and home. She sits beside you and looks at you and for the first time in six days your world begins to turn on its axis.

“Looks like I’m the source of your troubles, cutie. Guess some things never change.” You didn’t mean it to sound so hollow, really. But you can’t seem to summon the strength to be unaffected, to adopt your sarcastic grin. Not with Laura, not right now.

“But isn’t Elle…gone?” she asks cautiously, as if the answer could tear her in two. And it might.

“She’s supposed to be,” you admit. “But your dreams…they’re memories. Of me, with Elle.”

She sighs and nods. “And I’m playing the covetous role of Elle.” She pauses, fingers toying with the grey, frayed edges of the photograph. “These memories, it’s why you started vamping, isn’t it? Why you…”

“Lost control.” This time, when you say it, she doesn’t protest.

She stares at the picture of the manor for another moment before leaning forward to place it on the coffee table. She runs her palms down her thighs, as if wiping the feel of the photograph from them. You can’t blame her; you wish you could wipe the memories from your mind as easily. The guilt, the betrayal, all of the things you’ve held within you and never released. So much for therapy.

She sits back and turns to you, the angle bringing her knees toward you. They almost touch yours, but not quite, and you swear you can feel the air buzzing in the half inch of space between you.

“You said you’ve had control. But what does that mean? You had control before you bit me. Before you attacked me, or so we thought. What’s to say that doesn’t happen again? What’s to say I’ll be able to stop you?” She looks truly fearful, of you or for you, you can’t be sure. You guess it’s both, and that for you is a glass half full.

You swallow hard, the words slow in coming, but you know they must be said. “I haven’t gotten the image of you out of my mind. Here, staring at me, bleeding on the couch, like I was the embodiment of everything wrong in the world. Of every evil you’ve ever faced or imagined facing. And knowing that in that moment, that’s exactly what I was.” You blink hard and take a breath. “I will _never_ lose my control again. Will never hurt you again. Ever. I know it to be true. I can’t explain how.”

“Just like you can’t explain how I’m Elle in my dreams, even though dream you is the one I keep—kept waking up to.” Her voice has a sharp edge, and she has every right to it.

“No, I can’t,” you concede. “But I will do anything to figure it out.”

Laura’s head lolls back against the cushion, her eyes still on yours. “I know we can’t keep going like this,” she starts, voice low and small. You know she’s right, but you can’t bear the alternative that cuts through your mind. A moment passes in silence; there isn’t much you can say to that. She’s right.

When she continues, she sounds more assured, more like Laura, more like hope. “Maybe…maybe we need to do something drastic. Maybe we need to go back to Styria.”

The corner of your mouth lifts in a small smirk. Your Laura, ever the doer. The planner. It often got her into trouble, but it also always got her, got everyone she cared about, out of it. No matter what it is, you want—you need—to be part of it. Part of her plan. Because she _is_ your plan.

“I’ll follow you anywhere if you’ll have me. Even if it’s tied to a chair with garlic around my neck.”

She lifts her head now, the edginess in her eyes and her tense shoulders softening, relaxing. She breathes deeply, clenches her fist and releases. You think she might hit you, and you half want her to. But her arm comes up slowly and, in a second, you’re pressing your cheek to her palm. Such innocent contact had never meant so much.

“I miss you.” It’s hardly more than a breath, and nearly all that you can muster.

She shakes her head lightly. “I need this to be over. This distance. This fear.” Her voice cracks, eyes glossy and full. “I don’t want to be afraid of you. Afraid because I _love_ you and I’m losing you. Afraid that my love for you isn’t enough.” Her fingers curl, tips digging into your cheek, no doubt leaving marks. You don’t care. You want them, want whatever she’s willing to give.

“Laura, it’s everything. You’re everything to me.” You place your hand over hers on your cheek, pulling it down past your neck to rest over your heart. The heart that has beat only for Laura for the past five years. The heart you would give up in an instant if it meant saving her. “I will never hurt you again; I’ll sleep outside if it will make you feel safer. I’ll do anything, I promise. I love you.” You’ve never meant anything more in your 300 years on Earth.

“Carm…” She looks up from your joined hands to your eyes, searching them, searching you for answers you don’t have. You reach up slowly, and she doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move. You tuck her hair behind her ear, thumb tracing her cheekbone, and she’s closer to you than she’s been in a week.

You kiss her, softly, and it’s as if gravity is pulling you back to earth.

When you pull back and look at her, her eyes are still closed. They open after a beat, and all you see is want. She leans back in to capture your lips with hers once again. Your head spins like it always does.

She sighs against your lips, pulls her hand out from under your own, and tangles it in your hair. Like she _always_ does.

She deepens the kiss, holding your face to hers, afraid to let go. Your hands find their place on her waist, both of hers in your hair now, and in the next moment she’s straddling you, desperate to close the gaps between your body and hers. You pull on the hem of her shirt, tugging it up and over her head. When the kiss breaks a small sound comes from her throat, and she crashes her mouth back to yours like you both need the contact to live. And she feels so good you think you actually might.

She tugs the buttons of your top open, shoving it off your shoulders and behind you. Your heart aches and your throat is tight, and you’re so at home as her hair falls around your face. She is _everywhere_ and your whole world is Laura.

“Take me to bed,” she sighs, kissing your jaw.

“But what if—”

“I thought you said you had control?” Her chest rises and falls with her breathing, her eyes dark and wanting.

“I do, but what if I—”

“Then I trust you.” You wait a beat. You _do_ have control; you can feel it. But you don’t want to cross the line, don’t want to scare Laura away again when she’s just come back into your arms.

“Carm, take me to bed.”

It’s been so long, and she wants you, and you need her.

You push at her hips and she stands, taking your hand. She doesn’t break eye contact until she turns toward the bedroom, your bedroom, and pulls you along after her.

This time, when the door shuts, the lock never clicks.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

**Author's Note:**

> Too angsty? Too dramatic?  
> Not too anything? Didn't like it?  
> Let me know. I can take it.  
> Thanks for reading


End file.
